The Parts We Play
by Aquanova
Summary: Family members are revealed. Conspirators share fanged smiles, toasting to success. Alan Blunt plays one game too many. We all have our parts to play, Alex; devil's luck be damned. On Hiatus.
1. A Prologue

[Summary Edited: 25/04/2010]

[Summary Re-Edited: 04/08/2010]

Title: The Parts We Play

Author: Aquanova

Summary: Blunt played a game of risk, and lost. Smithers impulsively called on his little bird, and discovered the identity of a fourteen year old boy. Alex found himself with a mission, a would-be assassin to confront, and a brother named Jayden Rider.

Rating: T

Pairings: None

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to Anthony Horowitz. I just use his characters to guard the sandcastles.

* * *

"I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano; A stage where every man must play a part..." -William Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice

**AR**

Mrs. Jones lifted her head.

"Cornwall." She stated, glancing at the man seated across from her.

Alan Blunt gazed calmly back.

"Yes. Cornwall."

Mrs. Jones raised an eyebrow.

"You can't be serious. You'd already risked enough by bringing him there once. Now you're going to do it again?"

"There was no risk," Blunt replied carelessly. "They were too far-"

"With the son of John Rider, it's impossible to tell." Mrs. Jones retorted.

Blunt paused.

"True. Nevertheless, I would have thought you would have wanted Alex to go to Cornwall again. Weren't you always against all this in the first place?"

"Yes," Mrs. Jones snapped. "But allowing him to find out all of a sudden is barely an improvement. If anything, he will detest us even more." If that is at all possible, she added silently.

Alan Blunt gazed at his assistant. "You really are growing a soft spot for the boy, aren't you?" he remarked casually.

"It's hard not to, after all he's been through." Mrs. Jones replied with equal casualness.

The head of MI6 sensed the additional few words she did not speak. All of which we caused.

**AR**

They avoided him.

Some consciously so, some not, but the end result was the same. Some time during his missions, Alex Rider had changed.

Understatement of The Year.

Perhaps it was the rumors that caused them to skirt around him, that gained him the ability to turn a casual conversation stilted and uneasy. Perhaps it was just because they believed he was into drugs, he was seeing a shrink. He was in a cult.

It was what Tom would tell him with, to comfort him. And he, being the stubborn boy that-just-won't-bloody-die (as it was), obstinately grabbed hold onto the proffered escape and didn't let go.

Because however much Alex pretended he didn't care what others thought of him, he did.

He cared that his normal world was cracking before him, he cared that old friends no longer looked him in the eye – guilt?- and he cared that he really shouldn't have expected anything different, yet did. He wanted everything to be normal again, as much as it could be with an uncle that was never there.

He wanted to be able to laugh with his friends, to stop lying, stop having to fight, stop assessing every corner and shadow for assassins and spies.

But he might as well have wished for the sun to stop shining, because even that, at least, was possible.

So much so that it might as well have happened already.

Fred Conroy flicked a swift glance toward the boy sitting next to him. Serious brown eyes were directed toward the teacher, lecturing about something to do with theoretical probability.

As the teacher briefly turned around to write something on the board, a piece of folded up paper was swiftly slipped into the bag beside his chair. Pretending to retrieve a notebook, he reached down and surreptitiously pulled it out, before slouching a little lower in his seat and opening it.

A picture of his Maths teacher lecturing to a dozing class was sketched onto the lined sheet, which wasn't actually that far of the mark in terms of accuracy. At the front of the pencil-sketched class however, a stick figure had been drawn sitting straight up in his seat, face attentive, and small hearts floating above him. From the stick figure's head sprouted two puppy ears, along with a matching tail eagerly wagging back and forth. Below the caricature were the words, 'Alex Rider – Lovesick Puppy'.

Fred couldn't resist a snort, if only because the idea of Alex Rider with such a look on his face was unimaginable. Ever since his uncle had died and he'd started getting…sick, as they were told, he had rarely seen Alex laugh. The few times he did, Alex had been with Tom. The thought brought along a twinge of guilt, because before…everything, he and Alex had been good friends. Not as close as Tom perhaps, but good friends nonetheless.

For some reason, something had held him back, ever since the first of Alex's absences. It had been jealousy at first, perhaps, at having managed to relax at home. It was never meant to last more than even a day, but just from that slight distancing of himself from Alex, when they had next met in class, something held him back.

Something that he knew had affected the others as well, probably even Tom. Except that Tom had been the only one to lock it away.

Fred sighed, and reluctantly passed the paper on.

**AR**

In a two-storey modern house in Chelsea, about a ten-minute bike ride away, a housekeeper by the name of Jack Starbright went to pick up the phone.

* * *

A/N: I've seen shorter prologues, as prologues go. Some of them are brilliant too. Next chapter will be up in about a week.


	2. Chapter 1: Of Past and Present

Chapter 1:

* * *

_John Rider had always been the better spy. He'd been quicker, stronger, calmer. More skilled, more charming, more intelligent. And Ian has accepted it; from the day they became brothers. _

_He was the shadow, better than the rest, yet falling just one step behind his brother's brilliance. Sometimes, (many times), he believed that there was no worse place to be. Sometimes, (and maybe just a little more often that that), he wished his brother gone. _

_And now he was, and Ian didn't know what to think._

_The phone rang, and he answered. The car came, black and nondescript as always, and he went. He made a mental note to retrieve his car from MI6, where it was currently being rid of some newly acquired…dents. _

_Glass doors were opened silently by armed guards in suits and ties a few minutes later. A receptionist at the table in front, with the professional smile, recited the mandatory words. _

"_Welcome to the Royal and General, how may I help you?"_

"_Ian Rider, Overseas Finance Manager." What was the word for it? SSDD. Same shit, different day. He really liked Stephen King. _

_And so he was let through, as simultaneously a message was sent up to the office of Alan Blunt, a message informing it's recipient of an Ian Rider that had just arrived. _

_In less than five minutes, Ian was seated in the same chair that no doubt many other agents had sat in. Opposite, Alan Blunt and Tulip Jones were seated (and stood, respectively.) He'd expected the usual briefing from Jones, and the requirements from Blunt, which was why he had not expected the man before him to lean forward, hands clasped on the table, and say nonchalantly, "How is Alex?"_

_Inconsequent conversations did not exist, not in this room and not to this man. The dread that silently curled up in Ian's gut was thus fully justified. _

"_He's doing well," the man replied nonetheless, his face a polite mask. _

_Never quite as professional as John. _

"_He will be turning six in a few weeks, as I recall."_

_And Ian struggled to maintain his facade of insouciance, for anything other would be…unacceptable._

"_Yes, he is."_

_The agent waited to see why Blunt had deemed it necessary to bring up Alex's age, or bring up the topic of Alex at all. But Blunt simply nodded again, barely pausing before he moved onward to the point._

"_In the past, a few attempts have been made by several intelligence agencies, including ours, to recruit agents that would be of less suspicion to our targets. As development in technology has increased greatly during this generation, and no doubt will continue to do so in the future, our targets are gradually becoming easier to locate and eliminate," he paused briefly, "as are our agents. Therefore, intelligence has been trying to think of other methods to combat this era of technology."_

_Increasing dread acquainted itself with suspicion, safely within the confines of Ian's mind. _

"_All throughout wars in the past," Blunt continued, "World War II being a prime example, armies have consisted of not only adult soldiers, but children. These children would serve as messengers, lookouts…and spies. Just as these child soldiers had many advantages over adult combatants in the past, so similar concepts would have their own advantages in the present world." _

"_You want me to train Alex." It wasn't a question._

"_Yes." It wasn't a request. _

_And even as a part of Ian reviled in such an idea, another part of him could see the unmistakable benefits of having such an agent. Perhaps not as a child, but as a teenager. Even now, adolescents were generally not suspected, as so few, if any, ever managed to be successful enough to survive a mission. _

_This was far from being just a spy or messenger in past wars. This place they lived in was a modern-day world, with video cameras and sensors and state-of-the-art security systems like never before. If even trained adult agents were having difficulty staying undercover, children with a lack of experience would prove even riskier. _

_Unless they were trained from young._

_Unless their parent or guardian was a top spy for the government, who could mold the child into the perfect weapon. Ian Rider knew why child soldiers were so effective. If trained and brought up with the right methods, their mindset would be that of a soldier for the government, fiercely loyal. _

_Ian paused. "Did John know of this?"_

"_No. For the same reason as to why you would not have known were you his father."_

_The child was still young, and MI6 only provided information that needed to be provided. But there was something else as well. John had planned to leave his current job, move to France with Helen and Alex to form a new life. He would not have consented to have his child trained to be a soldier._

_Blunt raised an eyebrow at his hesitance. "As I'm sure you've realized, John would no doubt have rejected the idea immediately. He believed that a new alias and a new location would suffice to shelter him and his family from his past. The consequence of his mistake is laid out before you. And this is one weakness John has always had. As one of our highest-ranking agents, he gained a level of confidence and recklessness that is not unexpected of one in his position. Unlike you."_

_Ian blinked. Unless he was mistaken, the Head of MI6 had just…complimented him. Almost. It was true, he supposed. John had always been confident, even when young. And reckless. Not to the point of danger, he was more intelligent than that, but more than was regarded wise. Perhaps because he had always been the shadow, Ian had, as tradition went, been less so. Having always been near to the top, yet not quite, he had learned never to underestimate. Always better to overestimate. _

_And now, John was gone because of that one flaw, and he was the one that was left in the end, the remaining brother. Would it really be any use shielding John's son from this life he had immersed himself in? Would it not be better to train him, prepare him for something inevitable? _

"_Alright."_

_Blunt gazed at him with assessing eyes, and nodded. "You have wisely chosen not to follow your brother's path, and to instead learn from his mistakes." Blunt did not smile, but his eyes spoke of approval. "A Rider has never disappointed me. You will rise to become just as successful as your brother. Perhaps even surpass him." _

_And with a slight nod Blunt rose, a clear sign of dismissal. _

_Ian rose as well, unable to suppress the twinge in his heart at the almost-compliment. Perhaps even surpass him. Ensuring his face was still blank, he nodded once in return and left the room, eyes glittering slightly._

_o._

" _I was surprised he did not even suspect."_

_Alan Blunt looked up from his papers. "Everyone has their weaknesses. Ian's was not hard to discover. A man aware that he's skilled, yet constantly overshadowed by his brother, is a surprisingly common case."_

_Mrs. Jones frowned thoughtfully, and unwrapped a peppermint. "How about the other one?" she inquired suddenly, after a moment._

"_Harden to gain access, among other reasons. We'll leave him for now."_

*AR*

The bell rang.

Out of instinct, Alex Rider jumped out of his seat, fists clenched.

"Are my classes that agonizing, Mr. Rider?" a deep voice asked.

Alex flushed, and forced himself to relax. Getting rid of habits that MI6 had pounded into him was not one of the easiest tasks.

"Sorry Mr. Davis," he muttered, and turned around to grab his bag, cursing silently. But a hand on his shoulder stopped him, and before he could stop himself, he'd grabbed it and twisted round.

An astonished face met his eyes, and immediately Alex let go of his teacher's arm, mumbling an apology.

"You are…forgiven, Alex." The teacher finally managed to say, but his gaze remained fixated on Alex, an expression of slight concern gradually replacing the shock that had momentarily appeared.

_Great,_ Alex thought. _Just what I need. _

Muttering another apology, he strode swiftly out of the classroom before his teacher could call him back again.

Fresh air rushed into Alex's lungs immediately as he walked out the building, and he sighed. It was recess, a normal teenager's favourite subject, and he had been relieved to discover he could still be considered normal up to that point, if not for the same reasons. Out of habit, he surveyed his surroundings, looking for anything suspicious. Carefree students chatted while they ate on the grass, while others sat at tables.

Settling on a small table at a generally deserted corner of the outdoor cafeteria, he got his food and sat down. Almost immediately, he could feel the eyes of his classmates, boring holes into his back. As if he didn't already have enough scars and injuries to go round. He'd arrived back at school again about a month ago, and although they had accepted him almost at once, he could not blame his classmates for being curious or even suspicious.

He was never in school these days, always absent, sick, as he had claimed. And of course, with mysteries like him, there were always rumours. On drugs, some would say. Visits a therapist, others would state matter-of-factly.

_Funny how the word 'spy' never seems to cross their mind,_ Alex thought, smiling slightly. _But then, who would? A fourteen year old spy?_ He chuckled grimly, and his thoughts shifted to that of the scene with his teacher. The smile disappeared.

That was the first time he had reacted in such a way in the month he'd been back. He'd flinched frequently at a sudden touch or sound, but only when he was deep in thought. Like during Geography. But so far, he'd not gone to the extent of twisting a teacher's arm out of its socket. Just now, he'd been close.

_Idiot!_, he scolded himself, and yet he couldn't stop a sly grin from crossing his features. The look on his teacher's face had been priceless.

"What's with the grin? I thought you'd be moaning over the lack of crazy madmen to beat up."

Alex grinned wider as Tom sat down next to him. "I was actually, but I guess teachers will have to do for now."

Tom snorted, and stole a French fry from his friend's plate. "Now come to think of it though, I did see Mr. Davis looking a little dazed as he walked out the classroom. You had Geography before lunch, right?"

Alex grinned again, and nodded. "I almost twisted his arm at the end of class."

His friend stared incredulously at him before managing to ask, "You're not _serious_?"

Wish I wasn't. I don't know what came over me…" Alex trailed off, gazing into the distance.

"Well whatever it is, its probably happening again."

Alex's gaze snapped back to his childhood friend. "What?"

Tom nodded his head in Alex's direction, causing him to turn around. "Ari's gang."

Alex closed his eyes briefly, suppressing the urge to groan. Ari's gang was the _last_ thing he needed at the moment. But apparently, people could only ignore him for so long.

"Hey, Rider!"

Alex cocked an eyebrow and gazed at the group of boys, a bored expression settling on his face. Beside him, Tom was tensed, ready to defend his friend.

"Well?" He asked into the silence. "I was sort of in the middle of eating lunch, in case you haven't noticed."

It was Fred that spoke, which surprised him slightly. They'd been good friends, and Fred had usually been the calm, quiet type.

"Just wanted to make sure you were actually back. What with all the sicknesses you've been catching, we wanted to make sure you could still manage to kick a ball around."

Alex assessed Fred with curious eyes. The sentence was certainly ambiguous enough, and had it been said by a friend he would have laughed it off as a joke. Had it been said by an enemy the words could also easily serve as an insult. At the moment, Alex had no idea which category Fred fell under.

"What's wrong?" Fred asked, eyebrow raised. "No, wait, don't tell me, you've caught some rare disease that's made you dumb and mute, am I right?" A sudden smirk appeared on his former friend's features.

Well…that was clear enough.

Sighing inwardly, Alex painted on a smile. "Right you are! Now I'd have tried to keep from infecting you if I could, but it's not like anyone would notice any difference anyway."

Fred flushed slightly, and there was a flash of something in his eyes before it disappeared.

"At least I'm _around_ often enough that there's anything to be noticed, druggie." He sneered back. In his mind, the conversation was ridiculously one-sided. He'd barely scraped up a retort as it is, and Alex was right. Last time he checked, this wasn't his thing.

The fair-haired boy was staring at him now, eyes slightly narrowed. Fred resisted the urge to lower his eyes and mumble an apology. _He can't read minds. He can't read minds. He can't read-_

"Look, Fred," Alex said, "What you're doing is pointless and you know it. I really don't care about what you thought was the right thing to do, and I wouldn't right now if it weren't for the fact that not only are you wasting your time, you're wasting mine. For God's sake, just…find some other guy to provoke." Turning his back to the group, he stole some food from Tom's plate and began to eat.

Fred gaped. Nervously, he turned slightly to glance back at Ari. The larger boy was gazing back at him calmly, eyebrow raised. Oh, god. They weren't going to let him walk away.

"Hey Rider," he blurted desperately. "How the hell would you know what's best for someone else? I'm not the one falling sick every minute or visiting a shrink or something. At least I actually control my life, not live some _lie_."

And Rider stiffened.

Mentally, he backtracked. Had he touched upon some secret wound no one knew? Perhaps Rider had somehow connected that statement to his unc-

"You _bastard."_

Fred gasped as he found himself slammed back against a tree, streaks of white pain searing across his vision. And just as suddenly, the force retreated. Fred slumped to the ground from the sudden loss of support.

"God," he groaned. "What on earth was that for?"

He heard a muffled snort somewhere and looked around blearily. "Where'd Alex go?"

A strong hand roughly pulled him back up and pushed him back against the tree again. Not as forceful as last time, but it still _hurt,_ damnit.

"Feel free to go find him again if you want. But just so you know, I'm not gonna be the one picking up what's left of you," a voice snarled.

Frowning, Fred turned around to see they were the only ones left. Ari and the rest had probably deserted him after his miserable performance. He sighed and winced as his chest gave a reminding throb. "I didn't expect him to get so upset about it. What was that about anyway?"

Tom's eyes glinted with an emotion he couldn't read. "If you'd bothered enough to stick by him when he needed it, you wouldn't have needed to ask me that."

Letting go of the boy's shirt, Tom picked up his and Alex's bag and walked away.

"Hold on," Fred cried. "What-"

"Shut up." The threat was clear, carried by the wind from half a football field away.

*AR*

Alex was already in the classroom when Tom entered, head cupped in his hands as he stared unseeingly into the blank blackboard in front.

"You forgot your bag."

Alex turned, and smiled briefly. "Thanks."

Silence.

Both fourteen year olds made no move to continue the conversation, one too distracted in his own thoughts, the other unsure how to broach the topic. Awkwardly, Tom sat down in the seat next to his friend.

"If it helps, Conroy's probably gonna be suffering from back-ache for some time." Tom tried, blue eyes beginning to sparkle.

With surprising swiftness Alex abruptly jerked around. "Is he okay?" The brown eyes were almost…desperate.

"No- yeah, yeah he's okay," Tom rushed to correct his mistake. "Look, what he said, about your life and everything-"

"Forget it, it's nothing," Alex interrupted, but his troubled eyes belied the indifferent words.

"You should listen to yourself more often."

Alex gave a sharp laugh, his face contorting in bitterness. "Believe me, I try," he muttered. "But if there's anything I've learnt, it's that MI6 tend to prefer it when I listen to them and what they want, and not what _I _want."

"Well MI6's not here," Tom replied firmly.

Something snapped.

"Don't you _see_?" Alex said. "They don't _need_ to be. They've already changed me, made me into their perfect spy." Tom's eyes widened at the rage in his friend's words. "It's been their plan, all along. You think they were just gonna let their secret weapon walk away?"

Tom opened his mouth, then closed it. Words formed themselves and were discarded just as instantly. He realized he had no idea what to say.

And slowly, the first students began to enter the classroom, immersed in a world brighter than his friend's would ever be.

And all around them, the earth continued turning.

And all of a sudden, the bell rang.

Their break was over. 


	3. Chapter 2: Repercussions

Chapter 2: Repercussions

* * *

_Ian Rider has never been sure what to think of darkness; a double-edged sword. He respects it because of the numerous times it's saved him from detection. (Darkness and shadows are a spy's best friend.) But therefore, it makes sense that it'd be an assassin's best friend too._

_Tonight, he isn't quite sure where it sides._

_He glances at the clock in his car. It's almost one in the morning. Judging from past experience, he should be in London by a quarter to two, what with the lack of traffic. _

_Ian sighs, and returns his gaze to the night around him. _

_He could have waited until morning. Blending in with the early morning traffic would be just as effective as blending in with the night. But something stopped him. Driving back in the morning would mean arriving when Jack and Alex were awake. Jack would perhaps be cooking her five-minute breakfast, and Alex would be teasing her about her latest boyfriend. Jack would throw a towel at him, maybe a piece of toast. And everything would be normal, perfectly so. _

_Until he comes in. Ian sighs once more._

_Then Jack would give her that exasperated stare, the one that said And-Where-Have-You-Been-Now? , while Alex would be just be happy to actually __**see**__ his own uncle. Ian's heart twinges slightly. He pushes his guilt away, both at what his actions are doing to his nephew, and why. His conversation with Alan Blunt echoes softly in his mind before he slams the door to shut it away from mind. _

_It's better for Alex this way, Ian tells himself firmly. He knows it is. He's even written it down somewhere, once. (He makes a mental note to go look for it again when he returns.)_

_Glancing back at the clock, he reads the luminously glowing numbers that shows it is half past one. Ian has already entered the city, travelling through the well-remembered streets. He'll reach Headquarters in less than ten minutes. _

_o.  
_

_Ian Rider is good at what he does._

_Which is why, when he glances up at the rearview mirror and notices the motorbike silently speeding up to him, he doesn't freeze, but reacts._

_He's fast enough to grab the gun from the car seat beside him._

_He's fast enough to turn and aim._

_He's fast enough to see the ice blue eyes, the metal gun._

_But he's not fast enough._

*AR*

Alex only had time to retrieve his books before life banged in with it's typical subtlety.

"Will Mr. Alex Rider please report to the Headmaster's office, thank you." Mrs. Bedfordshire's unmistakable voice strained its way through the cheap speakers.

Alex froze.

It took him a few moments to collect himself before he managed to repack his bag, silently making his way to the classroom door. Numerous pairs of eyes burned their way through his head, and Alex fought the urge to grab the emergency fire extinguisher in the classroom corner and spray it on them_._

Instead, he concentrated on ignoring the staring class and slipped out the door, closing it quietly behind him.

Anger.

Fear.

He didn't need to ask why he was needed in the Head's office. Apparently, MI6 couldn't even wait till school ended this time. Perhaps some blind man with a neglected, abused childhood, who'd gotten-hit-on-the-head-falling-off-a-swing wanted to blow up the sun, so no one could else could enjoy light either? Or maybe he was just bored. Genius, derangement and boredom never mixed well.

The walk to the Headmaster's office never seemed to end. It was rather annoying, Alex thought decidedly, how Time would rush past when you attempted to slow it down, then come to an almost-standstill when you tried to urge it on.

A few hundred millennia later, the blonde-haired boy knocked on the door of the Headmaster's office, before entering warily at an answering call. The room was rather cozy, as headmaster's offices went. The walls were a light cream, with dark oak brown furniture arranged throughout the room, overall producing a comfortable, almost warm atmosphere.

All this Alex absorbed in a glance, paying it little heed.

Where was he?

Where was the man in the suit, fake parental smile and whatever excuse they had thrown together tucked up a sleeve?

"Mr. Rider."

The boy in question blinked up at his Head of school, consciously shifting his weight, smiling nervously. The easiness in which Alex had managed to fake such an emotion was just slightly unnerving.

Mr. Gray nodded a greeting. "Don't worry Alex," the man smiled slightly. "You're not in any serious trouble."

Alex tensed slightly. _Serious_ trouble?

The Headmaster leaned back in his seat, and nodded again. "Yes, you heard right. _Serious_ trouble. And no, I can't read your mind so don't give me that look," he chuckled slightly, before his expression turned more somber.

"I called you here today because apparently, there'd been a fight in school earlier today…?" Mr. Gray affixed his student with a stare, neither one looking away. A fleeting thought flashed through the headmaster's mind as he did so. _Gods, I might as well have been looking at my older brother, the way that boy stares so._

And, really, there was something about those eyes that was quite…discomfiting. He pondered briefly whether to tell the child whether that stare had more than once been the catalyst for a more than a few teachers' discussions.

And then the child suddenly –thank God, Mr. Gray thought- lowered his eyes, a brief flash of what seemed like relief crossing the boy's expression.

"I slammed him into a tree."

Mr. Gray opened his mouth, blinked, and closed it.

"Um." He coughed and cleared his throat, before steeling his expression into one of disapproval. "Why?"

The student's eyes were inscrutable, but he seemed to be struggling to form a sentence. "He…insulted me. I lost con- my temper. It was my fault." The boy looked sincerely apologetic.

The Headmaster sighed. Alex had been one of his top students. He'd been captain of the soccer team, yet also maintaining high grades, and as far as he knew, bearing none of the snobbish attitude many others in his place would have held.

Now…he didn't know what to think. How many of the rumours he'd heard were true?

"Sir," his student spoke up quietly, "I'll accept any punishment you decide to give me."

Such words had rarely, if ever, been heard spoken to him. Not in this office or anywhere else. With an almost fierce curiosity, he searched his student for signs of the cause of this change, and found nothing.

But that, in itself, was a change.

The boy before him gave no expression away except one of guilty regret, which should have dispelled most of the forefront rumours regarding the cause of Alex's absences. Unless the boy was acting? He didn't know. This, he realized, was usually the case these days regarding Alex Rider.

He had to decide, before the boy's curiosity was kindled and returned his attention back toward his Head.

"As you've never been a cause for such problems before, I'll let you go with a warning," he decided eventually.

Rider paused, and nodded. With barely a sound, the boy slipped out of the room, closing the door with a soft _click_ behind him.

Mr. Gray pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

*AR*

The wind whipped past with a passionate ferocity, whispering words of comfort into his ears.

_Not today, not today, not today, _it said cheerfully.

But how about tomorrow? Or the day after that? Or the one after that? Would he be reduced to waiting till the day they returned, came for him?

Alex clenched his fists, and pedaled harder.

*AR*

"Jack, I'm home!" Alex called out, dropping his bag by the door.

The house remained silent.

Alex paused. "Jack?"

A bird chirped.

Alex's posture tensed and he retrieved a knife, hiding the weapon slightly with his hand. Creeping forward silently, the teen approached first the living room, which was empty, then the kitchen.

Stopping a moment, he turned his head toward the doorway and heard the almost inaudible sound of breathing. Alex forced himself to relax. Taking a deep breath, he counted to three and rushed into the kitchen, knife held ready to attack.

Jack whirled around and screamed.

Alex froze.

Jack blinked.

Then Alex relaxed his hold on the knife and with a snort of laughter, dropped into the nearest chair.

Five, he thought mentally.

Four.

Thr-

"And what on _earth _was that about?" Jack demanded shrilly.

Hm. His estimation skills had always been lacking when it came to Jack.

"_Well_?"

Alex shrugged, and briefly attempted to look sheepish. "I called. You didn't answer."

He could see Jack's brows knitting now, and could almost imagine where her thoughts were going. Not good.

"What _were_ you doing anyway, gazing out that window?" Alex asked hurriedly. "Not drooling over another hot guy, are you?"

Jack's brows snapped back into place. Alex smirked in triumph.

"Well honestly, I wasn't _drooling!"_ Jack replied defensively.

Alex raised an eyebrow, and waited.

Jack shot him a look, one of those this-isn't-over looks, before bursting into a wide grin.

"Oh my god Alex, you wouldn't _believe_ who's just moved in!"

Alex rolled his eyes in mocking resignation. "Mrs. Vandel's grandson?"

Jack gaped. "How on earth did you know that? I swear, it's creepy!"

"Only if you hadn't spent the past week telling me about the conversation you had with Mrs. Vandel, and the fact that 'the picture she showed me of his grandson was gorgeous, Alex! And he's coming over next week, can you believe it!'"

Alex's high-pitched rendition of Jack had him ducking easily as the pouting housekeeper threw a tea towel at him.

"Well you have to admit, I was quite close," Alex smirked as Jack glared at him. This was the one thing of many that he loved Jack for. No matter how bad a mood he was in, Jack almost always managed to make it better. Almost.

Still pouting over Alex's stunt, Jack pulled out a chair and sat down by the kitchen table.

"So," she asked suddenly, "Enough about me then. How was your day? Meet any girls?"

Alex snorted. "I'm not you Jack. I don't go drooling after every single good-looking girl in sight."

"Hey!" Jack cried out defensively. "I-"

The phone rang, interrupting Jack's excuse. Alex grinned slightly. Trust Tom to not even be able to wait one hour before calling to ask what had happened with Mr. Gray. At least it was a chance to apologize for what had occurred earlier.

"Be right back," he called out to Jack as he went to stop the loud ringing.

"'Lo?" Alex picked up the receiver, grinning.

"Alex Rider? This is the Royal and General. I'm afraid a few complications have risen regarding some affairs your uncle requested be taken care of in his will. Your presence is desired to help sort out these matters as soon as possible. Transport has been arranged to pick you up, and should arrive in less than five minutes. Have a good day Mr. Rider."

With a quiet _click_, the line went dead.

Rather symbolic actually, if you thought about it.

*AR*

_They said your past would flash before your eyes. But when Ian Rider died, he wasn't thinking of his childhood, his life decisions, his every mistake. _

_His mind was on only Alex._


	4. Chapter 3: Secrets

Chapter 3: Secrets

* * *

"_Ian Rider's death has just been confirmed. Bullet wound in the temple. Analysts believe the agent's car was moving at an estimated speed of 60 miles per hour during time of death, which supports the idea that the agent may have been carrying important information." Mrs. Jones walked in and placed a folder onto the large desk. _

_Blunt gave the folder a cursory glance before leaning back in his chair, eyes focused in the distance. Resting his elbows against the armrests of his chair, he steepled his fingers. "What about the nephew?"_

_Mrs. Jones blinked once. "Whi-…Alex Rider? I could request for his file if you like."_

"_Yes. Now."_

_Mrs. Jones nodded and exited the room swiftly before returning again a few minutes later, an average-sized folder in hand. She placed it on his desk and waited patiently as he reached forward to read. _

_Detailed statistics were organized neatly in the pale yellow folder. Various photographs were also scattered throughout the pages. Photos of a group of people, amongst them a woman with messy red hair cradling a giggling blonde-haired baby, and two brown-eyed, blonde-haired men smiling casually, eyes belying a sense of alertness. A photo of a six-year old boy in a traditional white robes and white belt. A photo of the same boy a couple of year later in a corner of a school courtyard, standing protectively in front of a brown-haired boy. In front of them were two older, large sized boys, hands held up in surrender and fear. A photo of a blonde-haired teenager skiing down a slope on snowboard, hands raised for balance. A few others remained tucked in the corners of the file. _

_The MI6 Head nodded once. "Ian Rider did well. Send the boy in."_

_Mrs. Jones watched the man passively. "He's had no previous experience or training whatsoever, barring Ian Rider's teachings," she mentioned casually. "And Sayle has already proven himself as more than a minor risk, at the very least." That the boy's chance of survival wasn't high was left unsaid._

"_Send him in. If the boy dies, we will at least be able to confirm Sayle's intentions."_

_Mrs. Jones paused at this show of blatant indifference. Her mind worked a moment, before a suddeb flicker of light emerged. She shifted ever so slightly. _

"_Is this because of what his father had done?"_

_The woman noted an almost imperceptible stiffening of the shoulders, more of an impression than a true physical action. She doubted anyone else would have been able to notice. But they would have paid attention to the lack of reply that pervaded the room. _

_Blunt was Head of MI6. He was good at what he did. But he was human (even if people rarely managed to prove it). And he'd just made a mistake and broken one of the first rules of his job. _

_Never let emotions control your decisions. The instruction had been hammered into her from her first day. After a moment, she gathered the nerve to speak again._

"_John Rider is dead." _

_Blunt stared at her. His fingers curled infinitesimally around the edges of the folder, betraying more emotion than she had ever before witnessed in years. _

"_I know."_

_And she understood. 'Everyone had their weaknesses.'_

_She had just discovered his. _

*AR*_  
_

Jack knew the moment she entered the room. Once something happened often enough, you just got attuned to the little things connected to it. The way the silence seemed tangible enough to suffocate. The way the telephone seemed to pull everything in, like a swirling vortex. The way Alex stood so calmly, just like his uncle did.

His uncle.

Jack wasn't the hating type. Not really. She couldn't hold a grudge to save her life. But Ian…Ian was almost like an outlier, an exception. To think that the man had willingly molded a child's life and crafted the cage that came with it was…unthinkable. And it had been his nephew.

"They're coming."

Jack lifted her head, expression unreadable. Alex turned to look at her, faintly curious about her lack of reaction.

"Jack?" he asked slowly.

"Hm?" The tone was strangely bland.

Alex searched further, and his eyes sharpened as Jack's gaze flittered to his eyes and away, unable to meet his gaze.

"You…knew?" he whispered.

Jack closed her eyes wearily. "They called. Earlier. I told them to go to hell, and then I…hung up."

Alex paused. "Oh."

"Yeah. I was hoping…but that would have been impossible, wouldn't it? I mean, they're MI6 for god's sake, and I'm…I'm just-" Jack broke off with a strange choking sound, and her hands curled into fists.

"For what it's worth,"Alex smiled faintly, "thanks."

"For _what_?" Jack cried out suddenly. "What the _hell_ have I managed to do except stand around like an idiot while they shove you into conspiracies and assassin camps and psychopaths! I…every time you come back I just…I feel so _useless_."

Panic surged through Alex's body.

"No!" he said. Then his voice softened. "Don't. You have no idea how much help you've been, just _being_ here. You and Tom…you're the only people I have left. And it makes all the difference in the world."

"In your eyes. But how do you think I look in theirs?"

Alex stilled, and scrutinized Jack's grim expression. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't lie to me Alex. I've seen enough from you to figure it out. To them, I'm either blackmail material or one of your greatest weaknesses. I'm useful one day and a hindrance the next." Jack sighed.

The truth struck harder than it should have, because it was _Jack_ who had said it. Jack, who he'd wanted the most to keep all this away from. And he'd failed.

"Jack," he said quietly, placing a hand on her shoulder. "I…you're…" What should he say? What _could _he? Alex swore in frustration and weariness.

With quintessential precision, the doorbell rang.

Alex jerked his head toward the sound, then back to Jack.

She was staring at him with a sadness he would never have associated with someone of such cheerful personality.

"Go," she said softly. "We were idiots to think we could so easily run away from this. Just…stay safe, okay? Stay in one piece?"

Alex nodded wordlessly, and stumbled forward to hug her. Memorising every inch of the moment, he stored it safely in his mind before stepping back, and walking mechanically toward the door.

*AR*

The car was black. The leather seats were black. The windows were tinted black. The driver's suit was black; no doubt bulletproof, fire-proof, and hiding gadgets with Smithers' name on them.

Alex rolled down the window in an attempt to snatch a little of the colour outside. As the tinted glass lowered itself, somewhere up in the sky a bird sang cheerfully, mocking him with a freedom that he would never have.

Then the windows rolled themselves back up.

*AR*

Blunt and Mrs. Jones were waiting for him when he opened the door to the familiar room. Gritting his teeth mentally, he walked to the single unoccupied chair and sat down with a motion of aborted curtness. "So?" He asked abruptly, and restrained a wince at the resignation laced in his voice.

Blunt nodded. For what purpose, he wasn't quite sure.

"We have recently received information regarding Scorpia's latest actions," Mrs. Jones began brusquely. "According to our sources, they are planning to recruit and train a teenager to be an assassin, similar to what you are."

Alex inhaled sharply. _Another-?_

"And?" He asked. "What do you want me to do then?"

Blunt looked silently at him a moment. "We want you to go undercover as a new student at the school the target attends. We expect Scorpia agents to be watching the boy, so your cover is not expected to last long. Your goal is simply to convince the boy that joining Scorpia will not be to his benefit."

Alex frowned. "How do you know the boy will want to join in the first place?"

Mrs. Jones stepped forward and passed him a file. "Records of his childhood and current home and social life, along with his personality traits, show that he is likely to accept. His file is available for you to go through at a later time."

Alex reached forward to take a hold of the folder. On the cover, printed in neat black letters, was the name 'Zacharias Colt'. Looking back up at Blunt and Jones, he tucked the file under his arm.

"So now what?" He said. His consent was displayed through those three words in all vulnerability.

"Smithers will equip you with gadgets," Mrs. Jones replied easily. "These will be greater in quantity and lethality, as Scorpia is involved with an added grudge against you to bear."

Alex nodded curtly, then stood up and left.

*AR*

Alex knocked.

"Come on in then!" The unmistakable voice pushed past the door.

The teenager entered, only to jump backwards as a robot the height of his hand scurried forward, picking up pieces of scrap metal that littered the floor and tossing them into a growing heap of items by the door.

"Brilliant, isn't she?" Smithers grinned from behind his desk. Raising an eyebrow at the modest heap of apparent rubbish, Alex smiled and snorted slightly in amusement.

Smiling slightly, Smithers put aside the object he had been toying with and laid his chin upon his hands, fingers interlaced.

"So," he commented quietly, "Off on another mission, old bean?"

Eyebrows knitting slightly at the odd change in character, Alex simply nodded.

"Well then! It's not like I don't know what you're here for, do I?" The man beamed suddenly, throwing Alex off track once more.

Swiveling around on his large chair, he began pulling open drawers, at times taking out an item or two and placing it onto his desk, other times closing them and murmuring to himself. A few minutes later, a small assortment of odd items were arranged innocently on the large desk.

"The braces were really quite brilliant, but I'm afraid they shouldn't be used again. Never pull the same trick twice, you know?" Smithers grinned. "Right then. You'll be going undercover as a student, so it's much easier this time. It's amazing what sorts of things you find in teenagers' pockets! But anyway, coins."

The man pushed forward three coins of differing value; a 10 pence coin, 50 pence coin, and a pound.

"You remember these, I'm sure. Nice little mini-bombs, they are. But I've improved upon them since; the coins have something rather like an advanced motion sensor built in them. Tossing the coin up into the air three times activates it. Oh, and it has a five second delay."

Alex reached forward to finger the pound coin. "How explosive are they?"

"The higher the coin's value, the larger the boom." Smithers chuckled to himself. "The smallest one will be good for locks, and the largest one can rip a door off its hinges. We tried."

Alex smirked. He had no doubt they did.

"Moving on," Smithers hummed, and picked out a pair of contact lenses. "Have you heard of liquid metal, Alex?"

Alex blinked. "You mean, like…mercury?"

Smithers smiled genially. "Not quite. Gallium and indium are generally the elements used. They aren't actually liquid at room temperature, but they don't behave like normal metals either. Very useful because they retain their ability to conduct electricity, yet remain flexible and softer than standard metals.

Alex eyed the lenses warily. "Are you saying I'll be wearing liquid metal in my eyes?"

Smithers' eyes twinkled slightly. "Something of the sort. There are quite a few differences of course. We had to make sure the eye would not be damaged in any way while wearing them. But there's a whole lot of science behind that, which I'm sure you won't be that interested to hear about.

"So. The contact lenses. Basically, they're like binoculars in your eye. They can magnify an object up to 7 times. Activation is simple. Blink left eye to magnify, right eye to reduce. They also have the ability to automatically transmit captured images to an electronic device, which at the moment is your cell phone. Blinking both eyes twice will activate the camera."

"Wait," Alex frowned. "I don't have a cell phone."

"You do now." Smithers pushed an object forward with his finger. "Samsung Corby. Modified, of course. Speed-dialing '1' sends an SOS signal to headquarters. Changing the wallpaper to this," here the man reached forward and pushed up a hidden menu, before pointing out a themed wallpaper depicting a cartoon skunk, tail poised as if ready to defend itself, "will cause the phone to emit fumes that acts like poison and tear gas rolled into one," he finished happily. "There's only a two-second delay, but the gas will be spraying away from you, which gives you more time to run."

Alex nodded.

"Right. Last thing." Smithers pushed the last item on the table toward Alex. The object resembled a small grey ball with wings, and Alex was reminded uncannily of the golden snitch in the Harry Potter novels.

"You won't actually be carrying this with you. But if things go well, it should be able to find you at all times."

Alex scrutinized the unmoving ball. "Is it some sort of surveillance device?" he guessed.

"It's a tracker, actually. For, ah, worst case scenarios."

Alex smiled slightly. Perfect for him, then.

"How exactly does it track me?"

"Well…we're going to need a little bit of blood. Crude, I know, but it's the best we've got in terms of speed and accuracy."

Hesitating slightly, Alex held out his hand toward the small object. Smithers tapped the ball, and instantly the object seemed to uncurl itself. A small flash of silver struck the air, and a small pinprick of pain made Alex jump. By the time he looked from his finger back toward the ball, it had already recovered its original stance, still and unmoving. The only difference was an almost unnoticeable red glow pulsing from within the grey casing.

"Well, you're all set to go." Alex started slightly at Smithers voice, and sheepishly returned his attention to the gadget master.

"Thanks Smithers," he smiled slightly. Turning to leave, he stopped at Smither's voice.

"Alex."

Turning fully to face the large man, his curiosity rekindled itself as the odd expression that had passed across Smithers' face earlier returned.

The man shifted slightly, and his eyes stared unblinkingly at Alex for a long minute, before looking toward the heap of metal scraps where the small robot now lay unmoving.

"Gladis," he commanded quietly.

Lifting up its head, the robot instantly moved toward the metal heap and disappeared into the foliage a moment before re-emerging, a manila file held in its pincers.

Smithers leaned forward to take the file, and, pausing a moment, he looked Alex in the eyes once more before passing the file over.

Curious and wary, Alex opened the folder that bore his name.

o.

_Note: All information below listed as classified requires Level 2 status or higher to be accessed._

o.

Name: Alex Rider

Date of Birth: February 13, 1992 [1]

Occupation: Student / Classified

Profile: Classified

Further Information: Classified

o.

Name: John Rider (deceased; see case file: SCORPIA)

Relation to Subject: Father

Date of Birth: 28th August 1962

Occupation: MI6 S.O Operative

Profile: Classified

Skills/Abilities: Classified

Operative Rank: Classified

Further Information: Classified

o.

Name: Helen Beckett (deceased; see case file: SCORPIA)

Relation to Subject: Mother

Date of Birth: 19th October 1965

Occupation: Nurse (Location: Classified)

Profile: Classified

Further Information: Classified

o.

Name: Ian Rider (deceased; see case file: STORMBREAKER)

Relation to Subject: Uncle

Date of Birth: December 27th 1964

Occupation: MI6 S.O. Operative

Profile: Classified

Skills/ Abilities: Classified

Operative Rank: Classified

Further Information: Classified

o.

Name: Jayden Rider

Relation to Subject: Brother

Date of Birth: February 13, 1992

Occupation: Student

Profile: Classified

Further Information: Classified

o.

Alex dropped the file.

* * *

A/N: Oh look, an update! You may now take a moment to stare in shock. Also, the second changing of the story's summary is not a desperate and disgraceful attempt at attracting more attention; merely the result of a writer who changes her mind far, far too much.


	5. Chapter 4: Dancing

Chapter 4: Stepping Forward, Stepping Back

* * *

Fair hair, brown eyes.

Sandy-blonde hair, blue eyes.

Tall, thin.

Well-built, sharp features.

Short, fair hair, blue eyes-

Alex flung the pen onto the bedspread and crumpled the piece of paper he'd been working on. The possibilities were endless; and all he had was a name and age.

Jayden Rider. Fourteen. Birthday, February 13, 1992. Appearance…appearance. Appearance, appearance, appearance.

The crumpled paper ball teased the rim of the wastepaper basket and blew him a raspberry before diving in.

*AR*

The walk-in registration took him no longer than ten minutes. An extra fifteen there and back, including walking distance. As he passed by a graying sign on his way out -"Cornwall High – Excellence, Discipline, Community"- his eyes swept the area; picking out details both minute and blindingly glaring.

It was probably a rather good thing it took him quite a few minutes to detect them. In fact, he rather hoped they had momentarily revealed themselves for his sake, for if he could discern the location of his protectors in less than ten minutes, his enemies probably could too.

The first; dark skin, heavyset build, a brisk and impatient stride. The man held a phone to his ear, seemingly snapping out sporadic insults and commands into the object. Deliberately attracting more attention to himself to throw suspicion _off _himself.

The second, blonde-haired and above average height, average build. Serious features, easily forgettable face, sitting casually in a café sipping latte.

The third and last, relaxed and whom thus garnered the most attention from Alex. Average height, dark brown hair, carrying a briefcase which may or may not have been part of his cover.

All this Alex absorbed within minutes, with an ease that unnerved him.

He walked on.

*AR*

"To your seats," Mr. Aaron commanded.

Grumbling ensued, but the students swiftly found their way towards their tables and sat. Experience taught them not to dally.

The teacher swept his gaze across them, and his tongue _tchk_ed against his teeth. "We'll be having a new student coming in, a Mr. Caleb Lewis." The announcement roused a wave of murmurs, and Mr. Aaron rapped his knuckles upon the whiteboard impatiently. The chatter died.

"He's a transfer from…London." The man peered disinterestedly at the sheaf of papers in his hand. "Indefinite stay. Now we don't get that many new ones here, especially mid-term, but you know the rules. If I, or any of the other teachers hear anything about another schoolyard scuffle you'll be scrubbing toilets till Christmas. And don't say I didn't warn you."

Satisfied at his class's silence, the teacher began his lesson.

*AR*

"Heard about the new kid?" A heavyset boy with ruffled brown hair plopped himself down onto the empty seat, aiming a look of faint disgust at his tray of food.

"What kid?" The boy seated across raised his head, arching an eyebrow. Many of the others leaned in curiously.

"A transfer from London. 'Indefinite stay', whatever that's suppose to mean." The first boy shrugged and daringly poked at the greenish mush sitting on his plate.

Two seats down, another snorted. "Give it up, Rex. School food isn't changing anytime soon."

Torn between glaring at friend or food, Rex picked up their former topic. "Mr. A warned us not to start another 'scuffle'. I swear, he gave me a right stare as he said it, as if I'd been part of it or anything. Honestly!" Rex exclaimed in melodramatic horror, flourishing the fork in his grip.

"Watch where you're swinging that bloody thing."

Rex smirked. "I'd be doing you a favour, really. You know how ladies dig the scars."

"Oh, so is _that _why they're all drooling after Colt all the time?"

As one, the table tensed.

"I'd be careful what you say about Colt," Rex spoke carefully. "He's not one you want trouble with."

The boy who'd remarked earlier raised an eyebrow.

"So what, are we suppose to start walking on eggshells around him?"

"I'd say so, yeah." The table fell into abrupt silence as the subject of their conversation casually joined their conversation. "So…," Zacharias Colt pulled back a chair and dropped carelessly into it, "…heard about the new kid?"

*AR*

Students encased Alex with their stares as he walked onto school grounds his first day. Girls eyed him appraisingly, some quickly turning away as he met their gazes. Others flashed him a smile and winked. The remaining half of the school's occupants were, overall, less welcoming. In time, Alex was sure, the school's social hierarchy would reveal itself; until then he would simply have to portray Caleb Lewis as unthreatening as it was possible to be - without getting labeled as the local gang's new chew toy.

During his first class, Alex seated himself as far away from the blackboard as possible – the second row. Behind him (which consisted of majority of the class), students stared and muttered. Lifting his chin slightly in a sign of confidence, Alex glanced casually around the room. Some students nodded back; others sneered or lifted an eyebrow. These, Alex carefully noted. These were the ones he'd have to watch out for.

With a sudden slam, the classroom door closed shut. The teacher entered briskly, and waited for the noise to fade into a sullen silence. Sweeping across the group of students, the man's eyes settled on Alex.

"You. You're the transfer."

Alex nodded. "Yes, sir."

"From the States."

Alex nodded, paying extra attention to his false accent. "Yes, sir."

"You learned trigonometry yet?"

"Yes, sir."

"Financial Maths?"

"Yes, sir."

"Quadratics."

Alex paused. "No, sir."

The teacher crossed his arms. "Well we're halfway through, so try and catch up."

"Yes, sir."

The man nodded, and turned to face the blackboard. "The equation of the axis of symmetry can be found through two main methods, one of which focuses on an accurate sketch of the graph, and one which depends more on its equations…"

The man was nothing if not passionate, Alex decided. Sighing, he attempted to decipher the information rampaging through his ears and on the whiteboard, before giving up and simply copying everything. With any luck, he'd be out of here before exams.

"_Yes sir, no sir,_" a voice behind him mimicked.

Pausing in his work, Alex turned.  
"Yes?" He asked politely.

The boy leaned back in his seat and smirked. "You do know you're not currently setting such a good reputation for yourself, don't you? I'd say you have about," he glanced at his watch, "45 minutes to fix that." Cocking his head inquiringly, the boy's smirk slipped into a cool, assessing stare. "You up for it?"

Alex blinked and raised an eyebrow. "No thanks."

The boy leaned back in his seat, a slight sneer on his face. "Knew you wouldn't. Had you pegged the moment you walked through the door." He shrugged and smirked, eyes glinting. "You might be regretting that decision later."

Straightening himself, Alex met the boy's stare without blinking. "The only thing I'm regretting is choosing the seat right in front of you," he retorted. Alex really _did not_ want to have to deal with the local bullies five minutes into class.

The boy simply laughed.

"Colt!" The teacher's voice curled dangerously around its target. "Care to share with the class?"

_Shit_. Alex cursed inwardly. _Colt._ _Zacharias Colt. _Of all the people to make an enemy of on his first day, it had to be the one person he absolutely _had_ to get close to.

The boy in question smiled politely. "No, Mr. Sanders."

"Well make sure it stays that way." Imparting a final warning glance, the teacher returned to his lecture. Alex returned to his cursing.

*AR*

Carefully, Alex shaded in the dark locks of hair, twisted into a light curl towards the ends. The nose he graciously added to, tweaking it _ever so slightly_ until it protruded most magnificently from the teacher's face. From the body sprouted vulture's wings, spread open in indignant rage as the man's mouth twisted into a squawk of disapproval. Thoughtfully adding some steam coming out of the math teacher's ears, Alex gave the caricature a final glance through before folding the piece of paper up. _Perfect._

Casually, he nudged the person sitting to his left and passed the picture to him. The boy unfolded the paper, glanced up at the portrait's real-life counterpart and snickered, before passing it on. Alex watched his piece of art work its way throughout the class. Slowly, it made its way round to the student sitting behind him. As Colt curiously unfolded the paper, Alex straightened the end of the paper airplane hidden inside his desk and threw it directly at the teacher's back. The folded paper soared gracefully through the air and crashed straight into its target.

Instantly, Mr. Sanders turned round, his eyes falling upon Colt who at that moment had glanced up at his teacher, smirking at the similarities between picture and real life.

"Mr. Colt!"

The boy's smirk vanished. "Sir?"

"Had I known you were so eager to scrub desks, I would have assigned you a week's detention earlier." Even as he spoke, the teacher was unfolding the paper airplane. His eyes narrowed at the caricature within, a perfect copy of the one that had been passed around the class.

Colt's eyes flashed angrily. "It wasn't-"

"Make that a _month's_ detention, Mr. Colt."

The boy stopped his rising protest midway as he saw the expression on his teacher's face. His mouth snapped shut, and he scowled sullenly. It seemed Mr. Sanders did not take kindly to being made fun of. Bonus points for Alex.

The rest of the class was spent in almost complete silence, broken only by the theory of relativity and the scratch of pencils against paper. Students sent furtive, assessing looks toward Alex, as if seeing him in a new light. Alex couldn't resist a slight smirk; he'd done exactly as Colt had asked him to.

As the school bell rang to signal the end of class half and hour later, the students rushed out as one, unwilling to test their chances with the irate teacher. Alex packed up his books at a slightly slower pace, and as Colt passed by his table on the way out Alex flashed him a smirk.

"How's that for reputation?"

*AR*

Alex heaved a sigh of relief as he joined the throng of people gravitating towards the canteen. He'd longed for the normalcy of a British schoolboy's life, but now, attending class under a fake name, painfully aware of the fake contacts and dyed hair, the illusion he'd managed to maintain for himself at Brookland had groaned and shattered under its weight.

Congratulations, MI6.

Following the crowd of students toward the canteen, he considered the intelligence of his actions during class. His goal had been to catch Colt's attention, and not as a new punch bag or a potential lackey.

_Check. _Alex grinned slightly. And now it was Colt's move. Would he be furious and have Alex spend the rest of his time at Stonewall High evading gang-fights and death threats? Or would he be smart enough to realize a potential partner, an equal?

_God, I hope it's the second, _Alex thought. At any rate, he seriously doubted Scorpia would recruit an immature teenage bully, no matter how impressive his fighting skills. For now, he could-

"Bloody hell, Tom! Hurry up, will ya?"

Alex jerked his head up at the call, for a moment scanning the area for signs of his best friend. _Wrong school, you idiot. _

He sighed, but his eyes remained on the boy – _Tom_ - who was currently turning away from his locker to raise a middle finger at his friend, blue eyes fair hair sharp features – _Wait._

Could he-?

"Hey. You!"

Alex spun, and repressed his annoyance at the distraction. The boy he'd been watching darted a glance in his direction and hurried away, as if predicting an impending fight.

Alex almost growled. "_Yes?"_

The blur of a hand reached forward and slammed Alex into the locker doors; moments later his target's face was pressed up close to his own, a perfect picture of anger. The boy's breath brushed almost lovingly past Alex's ear as he leaned forward, lips drawn into a mocking leer.

"Join me."

Shock made Alex freeze, his eyes widening with incredulous disbelief. Then his brain rebooted itself and his thoughts raced away, full speed. _Accept; don't turn down this chance. No, refuse, ensure you have his attention. He may just want to turn you into another follower. But if your refusal causes the beginning of long-lasting enmity between the two of you? His interest will exceed his anger. He's smarter than that. Is he smarter than that? He should be. _Scorpia_ wanted him for god's sake. So – _

"No."

His mouth spoke for him, interrupting his thoughts; and just like that, his decision was made - if that look on Colt's face was anything to go by.

As he'd expected, anger, an echo of the emotions in Math class, crossed Colt's features. But the boy did not snarl, did not attempt to throw Alex across the hall; only released his hold on Alex's shirt and stepped back.

The look that Alex saw then, he could only label as contemplative, appraising. The slightest upward twitch of lips even seemed to hint at a hidden smirk, but before Alex could try to understand the character that was his target, the boy had nodded.

"Alright," he said, and walked away - trailed reverently by goons.

Inconsequentially, the boy he'd spotted that _couldn't possibly_ have been his brother had completely vanished.

* * *

A/N: Remind me never to criticize an author for updating at the speed of a dying sloth. My hearts are going out to them now, truly. *sheepish grin*

On another note, a question: how are you finding the chapter lengths so far? Short? Bordering on short? I know if I were to submit this as a novel (*laughs as self* HAH. As if), this would probably only be accepted as some sort of odd children's/teen's book hybrid.

Reviews are love.

-_December 12__th__, 2010_


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